Angelique paraded up to the front door, purposely leaving Snow White behind so she could look for any sign of Pegasus.
His star-studded hide was nowhere to be seen, thankfully.
At the edge of the clearing, Snow White finally stirred. “How did you…?”
“I saw it earlier,” Angelique said. “Given its secret location in the forest, I worried it might belong to a mage—or worse, someone cursed—so I gave it a wide berth. But after hearing the description of your Seven Warriors, I suspect it is likely their home.”
As Angelique wrapped her knuckles on the door so hard it made her hand sting, Snow White hurried to join her—nearly tripping on the huge pile of logs stacked in front of the cottage.
The princess twitched her red cloak into place and did her best to stand tall as they waited for someone to answer the door.
Angelique scowled at the cottage door. “I don’t hear anything.”
“Perhaps they are gone?” Snow White suggested. “Based on what I heard in Hurra, one could conclude they travel frequently throughout Mullberg to put down magical monsters…”
She trailed off as Angelique circled around the small but sturdy building.
There was no one in the stables—no horses, either—and behind the house, there were some barrels, crates, and more logs, but no sign of life.
When Angelique reached the front of the house, she pressed her face against one of the windows, her nose smudging the glass.
She couldn’t see much of the cottage’s innards—the only light was what little bits of orange were shed by the hot coals that burned in the fireplace. “Yep, they’re gone. It looks like they’ll be back, though. The coals in the fireplace are still hot and glowing.”
Snow White backed up and peered at the roof. “Should we wait for them? Or perhaps we should go to Hurra since we have no way of knowing how long it will be before they return.”
Angelique considered the door with an eye that had recently become proficient at breaking and entering. “Nah. We’ll just break in.”
Snow White’s voice went so high, she sounded like a mouse. “We’ll what?”
Angelique shrugged. “I’m not willing to sit out here in the cold because your seven heroes are off being do-gooders.”
Snow White clutched the throat of her cloak. “But it might not even be their home!”
Aww, is this what I used to be like before I lost all sense of civility? How cute.
Angelique patted her shoulder in a soothing gesture. “We’ll figure that out when we get inside, and if we’re wrong, we can leave.” She tugged on the door and frowned. “Locked.” She poked a finger at the iron keyhole for emphasis.
“How unfortunate. We should go.” Snow White started to turn around.
But Angelique had spent too many winter days breaking into Chosen strongholds to be so easily dissuaded—or to care about silly things like being rude. So, she kicked the door in with a roar, driving her heel into the wood right by the lock—a tip she and Quinn had learned after nearly breaking their heels on one of their first solo excursions without Elle.
The door cracked—the lock breaking through the wood, freeing it and warping the door’s frame—and the door swung open.
Angelique dusted her hands off in satisfaction, nodded, and marched inside.
Snow White gaped at the door while Angelique made a quick inspection of the place.
It had the undeniable smell of men—dirt. There was a tangy, spiced scent as well, which kept the place from reeking. When the light of the starfire illuminated the main room, she could see neat stacks of food, copper pots and pans hung from nails pounded into the wall, and enough weapons to outfit a squadron of soldiers meticulously arranged on enough racks. Sprigs of herbs hung upside down from the ceiling in an orderly manner. When Angelique passed underneath them, their tangy scents filled her nose, and she spied a shelf on the wall stacked with wooden dishes and clay mugs.
“I am reasonably sure this is the right cottage.” Angelique made a closer inspection of a weapon rack—the cleaned and sharpened blades called to her magic. “If not, we’ve stumbled on the home of a murderer.”
Snow White with her good manners stepped inside and tried to close the door, but the door no longer fit in its frame. “Um,” she said.
Angelique turned in a circle and found a staircase near the back of the cottage.
It appears this main floor is their cooking and eating facility. Do they sleep upstairs, then? Perhaps one of them is slumbering—though they’d be very bad warriors to sleep through a break in.
Angelique thumped her way across the wooden floor. “You should add a log and some kindling to the coals and dry yourself out,” she called back to Snow White.
She clomped her way up the stairs, which led into a railed-in loft that was littered with straw-stuffed mattresses, bedrolls and the like, all of which were made with dirtied linens.
Yep. Definitely the sort of housekeeping I’d expect out of seven men. Whoever the neat nut is that organizes the kitchen must not care about his sleeping arrangements.
As Angelique inspected the beds, she heard Snow White on the main floor. Apparently the princess had worked up the nerve to tend to the fire as Angelique suggested, because soon a fire crackled in the brick fireplace, and a warm orange light filled the cottage’s lower floor.
Angelique picked up a limp pillow and tossed it on a straw mattress that appeared to be losing its stuffing out a gaping hole in its side. “Yep, this is it. Between the various bedrolls and straw mattresses, we’ve got seven sleeping spots. But I thought you said some of these men are lords?”
Snow White replied, but she was too quiet for Angelique to hear.
“What?” Angelique bellowed down to her, shouting over the rustic railing made of thick branches stripped of their bark and hammered into the floor.
Snow White stirred by the fireplace. “Some of them are.”
Angelique peered at the misshapen beds. “If that’s so, then they are downright rooting in dirt compared to their usual standards.” She trotted down the staircase, jumping the last few steps. “That’s good news for you. Only men with iron-shod standards for heroes would do something like this. If you cry a bit, they should be willing to help you.”
Snow White huddled by the fire. “Um.”
When Angelique drew closer, she could finally hear the princess’ teeth chatter, and noticed how the lower half of her skirt was drenched. “You’re more wet than I realized. You really ought to change.”
“I haven’t any extra clothes with me,” Snow White said.
Angelique glanced up at the loft. “You could borrow something from your future heroes.”
“No, thank you.” Snow White’s quiet voice was unmovably firm.
She might be scared, but she’s got a backbone to her.
Angelique inspected the chairs and table positioned around the fireplace. “I don’t blame you. Their clothes and linens reek—I don’t think anything in here has been cleaned in a decade.”
A wooden bench and several straight-backed wooden chairs that were worn smooth with age but had the Mullberg ram carved into them were positioned around the fireplace, providing places to sit.
A long wooden table with benches was settled closer to the kitchen. And now that Angelique was more carefully inspecting the area, she saw a tiny writing desk covered with papers, inks, and quills, and a small bookshelf—which, besides the weapons, was probably the most expensive feature of the cottage and the clearest display of the Seven Warriors’ noble birth.